


The Bad Scone

by abbichicken



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coffee, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbichicken/pseuds/abbichicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mycroft slightly expresses his thoughts on John's existence in Sherlock's life.<br/>____</p><p>Short, daft response to ravelqueen's request for awkward John - Mycroft friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bad Scone

"I'm going to be straight with you," John says, and Mycroft raises an eyebrow which John studiously ignores. "This is very odd for me."

"Tea with a friend?"

"Coffee, and you're my friend's brother."

"Details."

"As if details were something you'd skip."

"Now now, Watson, don't be tetchy. Please. I come in peace."

"At least call me John. Saying 'Watson' makes me feel like some kind of underling."

"Well..."

"Don't. Just tell me what it is you're here for."

"I want you to know how glad I am that Sherlock's found someone who can put up with him full time." Mycroft tears at the dry fruit scone on his plate, and inserts a chunk into his mouth. He shudders, slightly, as if it is not a pleasant experience.

"I suppose that is what I do."

"He's not an easy man, my brother."

"I've noticed."

"But," Mycroft leans in, and there is genuine concern in his eyes, "there are reasons."

"I'm sure. No-one could possibly be as strange as he is, or indeed, as odd as you are, without a pretty good reason or ten."

"You're not going to ask about the hows and whys?"

"None of my business. Parental issues, I'm sure. Absent mother, Over-achieving brother. Sherlock could label himself anything he wanted and any first year psychology student would be able to find five ways to prove it so."

Mycroft frowns, and takes a second bite of the scone, chewing thoughtfully.

"You aren't a man without flaws..."

"No, no, but I am aware of them, and I'm also aware of _the real world_."

"Some of it, perhaps. Sometimes I think you are so delightfully naïve."

"Do you, now..."

"Yes." Mycroft's smile is horribly padded, a self-assured smirk coming through it. "But never change, Watson. Never change."

John drains the rest of his too-weak, gritty coffee, and shakes his head. "Considering you claim to have come to congratulate me, I fear you've missed the compliments right out."

"I don't think so. Sherlock can be a terribly depressing person to be around. Trust me, that I know. And yet you _make him laugh_. Not that awful, rattling, superior laugh, either. You've warmed him up, John Watson, and we all thought that couldn't be done."

"You're not suggesting..."

"I don't need to suggest a thing. It isn't as if that would change the truth of it, is it?"

In spite of everything, John feels himself colour. He only nods, by way of response.

"A little of me would like to encourage you to continue to the point where Sherlock might give up his exhausting interest in interfering with one thing and another and you might both retire to the country, or at least to Venice, or Cairo, or somewhere where a thousand mysteries that aren't orchestrated by London's finest could keep him busy, but we both know he's too damn important to this city for that to be the case."

Mycroft makes a third attempt at the scone, and rejects it, pushing the plate away, sadly. He swishes a mouthful of tea audibly around his teeth, and John shudders a little. There's something so unnerving about the man, although...not unpleasant.

"Yes, well..." he contributes, and wonders where on earth this is going.

"We both know, too, that Sherlock would never allow himself to be _comfortable_ , god knows he couldn't stand such security. So I'm also here to say, keep him on his toes. If it seems things are too quiet, perhaps you'd give me a call. I'm sure I could find something convoluted enough to pique his attentions for a time. There are files packed to the rafters with unsolved mysteries my little brother would love to get his hands on."

"Thank you...I think?"

"Thank you is about right. And now, I must leave this place before the formica brings me out in hives."

"Good, right. Okay then."

"And also, John?"

"Mmm?"

"I'd like to see more of you. This has been nice."

"Erm..."

"Next time perhaps we'll have dinner somewhere rather nicer. My treat."

"Er..."

"Come now, don't deny me. As I say, I'm all support for this setup. You're a good catch for us all."

John wants to ask exactly what Mycroft means, but then realises that he doesn't want to hear the answer, whether it's the one he fears or something far more complicated, and either way, if he's going to continue to exist as he does, which he is, then it seems Mycroft is an inevitable looming shadow six inches from their sides, and every...co-habitation has its in-laws to deal with. On reflection, a good dinner is more than most have offered. Hell, a coffee is one up on many. Despite the title of 'doctor', he's never been referred to to as 'a good catch' before, and Mycroft is a nice change from Sherlock in that he does occasionally answer questions, and talk about things other than himself.

"That would be nice."

"I'll be in touch."

"Would you like my number? These things are much easier if-"

"No, no. I'll be in touch. Until next time..."

John nods, and Mycroft is gone.

The bill is only £5.50, but John resents being left with it, and resolves to take great advantage of Mycroft 'next time'. He brushes the crumbs carefully from every fibre of his clothing, and finishes a glass of water to wash away any coffee stains from his lips or teeth.

When he returns to the flat, Sherlock looks him up and down, squinting. "Where have you been?"

"None of your business."

"You don't have the self-satisfied grin of a successful date, nor the wounded kitten appearance of a bad one, so clearly not with a girl. We've no friends to speak of, certainly none who would want to see you for anything less than alcohol, which your eyes and skin show me you have not consumed. You have no visible evidence of shopping and insufficient colour in your cheeks to have been for a walk in this weather...John, where _have_ you been?"

John feels his spirits lift further. Certainly, this is a strange life, but even with its quirks, it is infinitely better than any he'd previously imagined.

"None of your business," he says, again. The smallest games are the most fun, sometimes.


End file.
